


Cartwheeling Coffee and Cranberry Croissants

by slugbuggie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:22:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28374606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slugbuggie/pseuds/slugbuggie
Summary: The Avalon was not a cafe one went into unaccompanied. It was intimate and otherworldly and meant for dates on which strange, magical things occurred.When you walked into The Avalon, you meant to walk into The Avalon.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merthur
Kudos: 49





	Cartwheeling Coffee and Cranberry Croissants

**Author's Note:**

> [Larklemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larklemon/pseuds/larklemon) wrote out a bunch of guidelines and challenged me to write this a while ago and I never got around to posting it but here it is now!

Arthur must have looked a bit like a madman, stumbling through the rain with his bookbag tucked beneath his windbreaker. He huffed as he soldiered on. Storming out of his dorm room would have been the perfect end to his argument had it not been pouring when he’d burst out onto the pavement. Unfortunately, Arthur was a stubborn man, and running back inside to his intolerable, party-hosting flatmates with his tail between his legs would be the worst way of admitting his defeat. No, he’d made his decision, and now he was going to have to live with it.

Running on anger and spite, Arthur made his way down the rain-battered campus paths, mumbling furiously to himself. It was not so unrealistic to ask for  _ one _ quiet Friday night, was it? Just  _ one _ night where he could sit back and relax and not be driven insane by the drone of loud music and conversation seeping through the walls of their shared bathroom. Arthur growled and kicked at the ground, sending splatters of gritty water over his shoes. Cloth shoes. Cloth shoes that were now almost entirely soaked through. He resisted the urge to shout out a curse. Just barely. 

Despite the rain, Arthur continued to walk, clutching his bag to his chest to keep it dry, desperately trying to clear his head and keep his cool. The steady feeling of raindrops hitting his shoulders grounded him, the pavement under his feet, the smell of wet earth and wind. Gradually, Arthur slowed to a stop, pausing to take in his surroundings. He breathed deeply, caught raindrops in his mouth when he let his lips crack open. As the world stormed around him, Arthur Pendragon finally found his calm.

In doing so, he’d also managed to wander to a side of campus he hadn’t explored before. The path he was on ended several meters ahead of him and turned sharply to merge with a sidewalk leading down a street of shops and houses. When he went into town, he drove, and with friends, more often than not. He couldn’t think of a time when he’d walked from campus into the nearby town, and it would be his first time exploring the outskirts. He blinked rapidly as he looked up at the trees that framed the end of the path, green and blooming, pleased with the wet, warming weather of early spring.

The Avalon was not a cafe one went into unaccompanied. It was intimate and otherworldly and meant for dates on which strange, magical things occurred. It was  _ not _ the type of place a shivering college student could just traipse into to get out of the rain. When you walked into The Avalon, you  _ meant _ to walk into The Avalon. So, when Arthur burst through the dark, mahogany door and slammed it shut to keep out the wind and rain, it wasn’t surprising that a few heads turned his way.  _ It could be the bells _ , he told himself.  _ The bells on the door were loud _ . But he knew it wasn’t just that. He was alone, he was wet, he looked a mess. He didn’t  _ belong _ , and every other customer seated before him seemed to think so. He smiled awkwardly, mumbling hellos as he stumbled down the rows of round, two-person tables, looking for an open, preferably isolated spot.

He’d just been trying to get out of his damned dorm. Away from the Friday-evening chaos in the hallways, the company his suitemate insisted on having when the weekend came around. Away from Leon, his nagging roommate who, as much as Arthur wholeheartedly loved him, did not always know when to bugger off and give a man some space. In a far corner, there was an open table, surrounded by three other blissfully empty ones. Arthur let out a short sigh of relief at his find. At last, he was safe. As he settled down, he shed his dripping windbreaker and shook the few droplets of water from his book bag on the floor, eager to get a good chunk of work done before one of his friends wandered in and found him.

Back on campus, rain continued to batter the concrete paths, dark clouds blocked out the sun; it stormed on. Inside The Avalon, Arthur pulled his laptop out to work on his thesis and tried his best to ignore the glances he was receiving from waiters and baristas and other customers around the shop. 

Now, Arthur Pendragon was perfectly used to being alone. In fact, he didn’t quite know how to function without a touch of loneliness. Despite this, he was not used to not  _ fitting in _ . Being noticed, sure, being glanced at, being whispered about, but the feeling he had that he  _ didn’t belong _ was unfamiliar, uncomfortable. The murmurs that floated around him were not giggles or swoons, they were questions and judgments. As the minutes passed, the more aware Arthur became of how obtrusive he appeared to be to every other body in the building. 

No interaction, no distraction, and on top of it all the sharp scent of coffee and pastry hanging sweetly in the air. It should have felt like a dream come true. So why did he feel so out of place?

A contributing factor to the dissonance Arthur’s presence seemed to cause was quite simply that he did not know the lore of the place. He was a man of busywork and night drives and order, he didn’t spend his time lingering in bars or cafes. He didn’t need to. If he did, he may have known the longstanding, yet-to-be-officially-proven myth of The Avalon: there was magic within its dark wood walls. Inside, one was to be cautious, careful with their words, gentle with their steps. It was reported time and time again that the baristas could serve a customer’s favorite drink with no more than a glance in their direction, whispers said couples who sat and dined and spoke with each other throughout the dimly lit cafe could speak only the truth. Countless relationships had sparked and burned within The Avalon. Countless secrets spoken. Countless truths revealed.

It was a fantastical place, it was a place of legend and rumours, but to Arthur, it was nothing more than a refuge from the rain.

Merlin Ambrose had been working at The Avalon since his freshman year. It took a careful touch to sell the tall tales of the small cafe. Judge the customers carefully, smile mysteriously, don’t forget to bat your eyelashes. Those were only a few of the many words of guidance his best friend and favorite coworker, Freya, had whispered constantly to him in his first year on the job. After that, the suggestions never halted, but Merlin was grateful for her advice, especially when someone like the blond in the corner burst through the front door.

It was a simple matter of reading the customer, most days. It was a matter of listening to the things they said, to the things they excitedly wondered aloud when they entered. Merlin found, after a while, that customers at The Avalon were often too thrilled by the whimsical decor and intimate atmosphere to be disappointed by what they were served.

But this man who’d just entered, he was a more difficult case. For one thing, he didn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about which cafe he’d just entered. He was dripping—he literally  _ shook _ rainwater from his bag—all over the floors Merlin spent so much time each evening mopping clean. His brow was creased, he was frustrated, but he didn’t so much as glance at the front counter, just shoved his way to the back, looking for a table. If he wasn’t here for a drink and a snack, or to gawk at the inside of the popular cafe, why the hell was he here?

To  _ work _ , it seemed.

Merlin rested his elbows on the counter and tilted his head to watch the man, who had pulled a laptop and a notebook from his bag and was beginning to type and scribble, completely in a world of his own. He was nice to look at, Merlin could say that much. Strong nose, sharp cheekbones. He’d look a bit like a carved Roman statue, if only he would stop glaring at his screen. His posture was better than Merlin would expect from a scowly college student, and his hair, which was darkened by the rain, was cropped neatly against the side of his head and stylishly messy on top. 

He was  _ pretty _ , Merlin thought to himself. Pretty and neat and so, so bright in the dim lighting of the cafe. He’d shrugged his dark red windbreaker from his shoulders to let it hang on the back of his chair, and Merlin watched as he carefully pulled up the sleeves of his heather white shirt, exposing lightly tanned forearms. White and gold shone from the otherwise empty back corner. Merlin looked away.

Just do your job.

It didn’t have to be difficult. The blond wore every emotion he was feeling on his brow. Tiredness and frustration and classic college student stress. He screamed black coffee. Black coffee with a little cup of cream and a bowl of sugar cubes set out on the table for him to consider putting in his cup without ever actually doing so. Merlin could picture the blond fiddling with the little metal tongs. Before he could stop himself, he was looking back over to the corner, where the young man was staring at his computer screen, fingers tented and resting against his lips, lost in thought. He blinked a couple of times, rubbed his eyes, then brought his hands back to their resting place against his lips. Black coffee for sure. As he began to work on the order, Merlin wondered absently if the blond’s lips would feel soft against his own fingers.

_ Just do your job _ . 

Black coffee. Merlin put the order together on a tray. The rich, nutty scent of freshly brewed coffee warmed the air. The blond in the corner probably liked the smell of coffee, he looked the type to have a favorite roast, a specific taste he kept stock of in his dorm. It was a sweet, domestic thought. A glimpse at another side of the tired student who glared at the words he was typing. Merlin stepped back to look down at the tray. Exactly how he’d imagined it. Bright white mug, one of the few in The Avalon that didn’t have any type of design. Cream, sugar cubes, little metal tongs. Again he thought of nimble fingers messing with the tool. 

He looked up one last time before he stepped out from behind the counter. White shirt, damp hair, smooth skin. Red windbreaker. Merlin hummed, brow furrowing.  _ Red windbreaker. _ He set the tray back down and made his way to the display case by the register to quickly grab a pastry. He shuffled things around to make room for the new plate. 

Perfect.

Arthur had been on a roll for the first couple minutes after he’d taken his notebook and laptop out, but he quickly found himself at a writer’s block. It wasn’t his fault his mind was swimming with other thoughts. Was Leon upset at him for storming out? Were his flatmates criticizing his frustration at the whole ordeal now that he was gone? What if he returned to find they’d packed his things and thrown him out on the-  _ Okay _ , that wasn’t going to happen. Arthur huffed and blinked at the screen, trying to bring it back into focus. He was cold. Cold from the rain in his hair, cold from the drafty window behind him. He was tired too. Tired and annoyed and wet and cold. The moment of peace he’d found in the rain had been quickly interrupted by the mutters and glances within the cafe. He sighed. He wasn’t going to get any more work done until he’d cleared his head. 

A walk was out of the question. He’d just walked in, he wasn’t about to walk back out. Plus, he could hear the rain beating down outside, and he wasn’t ready to face the weather’s wrath just yet. It was a  _ cafe _ , why not go for a cup of coffee and a snack? Arthur ruffled his hair and made to stand, noticing too late the young man approaching his table.

Merlin navigated the cafe’s narrow pathways with ease, he walked them every day, balancing this drink and that as he brought orders out to eager customers. As he approached the blond, he noticed the glances, the whispers. The customers and fellow baristas thinking exactly the same thing that Merlin had when the young man had burst through The Avalon’s doors. It made him scowl. He wasn’t entirely sure  _ why _ , but the idea that anyone else had been thinking that the blond seemed a bit out of place just didn’t sit well with him. Merlin brushed off the thoughts as best he could as he reached the table in the back corner. For some unexplainable reason, he’d begun to feel oddly defensive about the blond, but perhaps by serving him he’d shield the other man from the curious glances and raised brows. If he was just another customer, what business did they have questioning his presence?

Merlin moved up beside the table and opened his mouth to speak, just as the blond stood, stepping forward into Merlin, and into the tray he was holding.

_ Oh no. _

Arthur had no time to cry out before the tray that the barista held began to tip. Heavier than the rest of the platter’s contents, the filled mug of coffee slipped first, sloshing over the barista’s wrist before falling to the floor with a crash. When the barista flinched away from the burning liquid, Arthur’s arm shot out to steady the tray before anything else fell, but the contents had already been jostled enough. Everything looked a mess aside from one plate, untouched by spilled cream and coffee. At his feet, he could feel the heat seeping into his pants and the already-soaked fabric of his shoes.

Merlin yelped when the coffee splashed against his skin, further losing his grip on the tray before the blond reached one arm out to steady it, and another out to steady  _ him _ . Cream and coffee had spilled over the tray, and the sugar cubes soaked up the liquid and began to disintegrate when they tumbled from their container. Only the pastry was unharmed. The pink-streaked cranberry croissant knocked to the side of its plate, but otherwise unspoiled. The blond’s hand on Merlin’s shoulder was almost as hot as the searing coffee.

Anger boiled in Arthur’s chest, and he looked up at the clumsy fool before him with half the mind to shove the ruined tray right back in his face, only to be caught in wide, wide eyes. Breath failed him. A wave of warmth washed over Arthur and he realized suddenly that he no longer felt as alienated as he had when he’d entered. The entire population of The Avalon cafe had their eyes trained on Arthur and the dark-haired serving boy, but the feelings of unease and estrangement were gone. He  _ belonged _ . Odd, how a stranger can do that. 

When Arthur remembered to breathe again it was in perfect time with the young man before him, blue eyes caught blue eyes as they took each other in.

“Sorry,” said Merlin, though his brain was screaming something more along the lines of ‘ _ I think I’m in love with you’. _

“It’s alright,” Arthur managed, and though his head was a jumble of thoughts, all of them concluding exactly the same thing: He really needed to come to The Avalon more often.


End file.
